


There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded heart

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Booty booty booty, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AU where Margaery goes to hide in the vale after escaping her crazy-ass high septon trials and Cersei and finds an old friend to help her.





	1. Welcomed to the Vale

**Author's Note:**

> HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO. I am so bad at titles, but I named this one after The Casket Girls' awesome song, "Chemical Dizzy." I recommend the song and honestly think it kind of fits the characters/story anyway. I've been reading 'Storm of Swords,' 'Feast for Crows' obsessively so YES THERE ARE SPOILERS. SPOILERS for Alayne's chapter in 'Winds of Winter' as well because I can't help myself but include that while also writing this because I'm hype AF for Sansa's continuing storyline. Yasssss

 

 

One day a ship lands. And it is not a Stark, a Lannister, or anyone of the Vale. No. It is an eighteen year old girl running from a Mad Queen, her rough-spun clothes deteriorating and the pads of her feet streaked in dirt and blood.

+_+

 

 

Alayne

 

“I’d hardly make for a good match now,” Margaery smiled sadly, “Queen Cersei has seen to that.” Drinking moon tea, bedding handmaids and silver-tongued bards. These were the wild accusations the queen regent had bestowed upon her daughter-in-law. Alayne may not have known, but  _Sansa_  certainly did. Those were the certain tales from overseas she took note of, though Petyr always eyed her suspiciously as he told her of them. Talk of Tyrells seems to keep him wary of his daughter’s interest. And he’d been even warier of extending his hospitality or the cloak of protection from the Vale…

Her time spent in the Faith's prison seemed to have worn down Lady Margaery, her eyes tired and less inviting then before, as if she'd borrowed the distant look her brother had given Sansa upon asking about Renly’s demise. It was strange to her how one sibling became so cross, while his widow told her she was kind to give her condolences.

“You’d make a fine match,” Alayne soothed, “I would pair you with my own kin.”

For the first time since her ship made port, Margaery laughed. A bright, little laugh that met her eyes and was not laced with mistrust or guardedness. Or even, a feeling Alayne knew herself, the sense of resignation that came from years of the yellow queen’s constant lashings.

But it soon went away, and she looked up at Sansa with a perfectly, put-in-place smile instead. “Which kin?” She prodded, teasing.

“My own brothers,” Alayne laughed too, unable to help it, “Would that I could.”

“My parents certainly had their eye on the Starks.” The flower’s cheeks were red.

“Oh,  _I remember_. And while we’re at it, I suppose Arya could have been promised to Loras. We will cement our familial bonds this way.” She could laugh to even just imagine  _that_. It’d be difficult to get Arya in the dress for one, but a true marriage of connivence… if it were not for the Kingsguard, Loras would have had to been promised. And Arya would have had to sulkily accept the most-wanted man in Westeros. Margaery and Robb, Loras and Arya. Who’d that leave for the oldest Stark daughter? Anyone, but a Lannister. But what did it matter to Alayne Stone? She’d have herself the Arryn Heir. And then the Eyrie, and the Vale.

And she feels Petyr’s words, singing like a sword drawn from it’s scabbard:  _We will find Stark blood for Margaery Tyrell. Join two Noble houses and we will forge a connection to the most fertile region of Westeros and to perhaps fifty thousand swords, if not thirty after Cersei’s ministrations. She is as valuable as she is beautiful. But not nearly as valuable as you, my Sweetling._

 “As I seem to recall, you were the one who dreamed of my brother? You’d sacrifice your own heart?” Margaery asked.

“No.” 

Margaery looked quizzical.

“Arya’s my heart,” Alayne whispered.

 _Petyr tells her to keep The Reach close_.  _Sansa thinks she would have wanted to protect her with or without her claim._

 

+++

 

 

MARGAERY

 

“You know,” Sansa Stark disturbs her from her book on  _Two Histories of the Eyerie_ , her pale and soft-looking hands resting up on the back of Margaery’s chair, “he says you have a skill for garnering the love of smallfolk.” A little smile graces her lady’s face.

“Does he?” 

“Lord Baelish says we may find purpose for you here. ‘With skills like hers, we’d have the love of our birds in no time.’” 

Sansa looks pleased with herself, but Margaery finds herself once again intrigued between this relationship between Petyr and the Stark heir. The way he  _looked_  at her, the way  _he touched_  her, the way he drew her to the corners of rooms to whisper in her ear… It was not as she and her grandmother once convened, nor even how she had once seen Littlefinger with his words to the queen’s ear–it was a different thing entirely. Though the pair thought themselves coy, she saw how Petyr’s fingers traced intimately through his ‘daughter’s’ hair. He was always coaxing her closer, always begging for a kiss when she returned from their rides. Sansa looked flushed and embarrassed each time. 

“Well, thank the Seven that Lord Baelish sees a purpose for me–” 

“Oh–Margaery–”

“No. I take no offense,” she gives an easy smile, “I would be honored to help.”

Sansa nods, her eyes looking away and her thoughts elsewhere, perhaps up in the eyrie’s towers, so Margaery continues. 

“To be honest with you, I always enjoyed townsfolk and meeting people outside of our stuffy, little castles.” 

Sansa casually leaned down and flipped a page of Margaery’s book, the pages crisp and light like a feather. She seemed in high spirits, and not the quiet, watchful girl she was when whenever her lordship was around.

“Perhaps that’s why you waste all your time with a baseborn girl, like me?”

 

+++

 

Margaery misses her team of bards, suitors, knights and ladies. She misses the noises and the fun. She even misses playing Come-Into-My-Castle with her younger attendants, but Margaery misses riding, gardening, and hawking most. There are hawks in The Vale, and they swoop down low to catch prey. There are beautiful robins, snowy owls, thick-chested falcons, and black-feathered ravens that fly above in the dewy mountain air. There are lakes perfect for swimming, and ponds and rivers perfect for fishing. She brings ‘Alayne’ the Lord Protector’s bastard with her whenever she can. She is now ‘Marry the handmaiden’ a title that makes her lips prick up into a humored smile…  _just like my sweet, innocent cousins, Alla and Megga, but the Lady she serves is thrice as comely._ They steal a flagon of white wine from the tower’s kitchens and drink it in the solar, legs tucked underneath them as they sit on her lady’s bed and gossip.

“Mya Stone is a spitting image of my late husband, but truthfully those Baratheons all are.” Margaery takes a turquoise comb covered in pearls off the bedside table, “Come, my lady, and I will brush out your hair before bed.”  _Your dark hair which grows more auburn everyday._

Sansa looked rueful. “I do not expect you to-”

“I imagine I should more than just  _sleep_  to thank my Lady Hero.” Her eyes shined here in the candlelight, and maybe even from drink. She felt faint and tired, yet also restless. As she was whenever she was away from her brothers and cousins for too long. 

Sansa said nothing but gave a small nod, so Margaery moved behind her on the bed and started undoing the work of her elaborate braids with careful fingers. Her slightly shorter arms circled around Sansa’s shoulders and she bit her lip as she focused on brushing out the reddening locks. There’s something about absentminded tasks like fixing hair or caring for flowers and herbs, that makes the tightness in her chest soften. But here, with her lady’s back almost flushed to her chest, she only feels it thud harder.

She wonders if she should whisper in her lady’s ear– as Petyr does, but Margaery is tired of toadying. She did that enough with King Tommen. Here, her survival was not dependent on whether or not Lady Alayne cherished her more.

 _(yet for some reason she wished she did_. _)_

 

 

_THE THREE RAVENS KNIGHT_

The bastard daughter invites her handmaid to council meetings. A preposterous turn of events for Yohn Royce, but a hilarious one for Cobray Lyn. When the councils get tedious, he just closes his eyes and imagines the things he’d do with her  _wicked_ tongue.

“I’d fight the Mockingbird myself, but I seen how Brandon Stark wet his blade ‘fore the young Master wet himself.” Corbray says. Their public show is important for subsiding Lord Bastard’s challengers and also for quickening the fullness of his own pockets. 

The handmaid’s eyes sparkle. “What duel?”

The Lord Protector’s eyes flash with something cold. A rightly response to any lowly’s  _insolence_. Corbray would hit his servant girl for asking, but this was Lord Littlefinger, the richly geld! Nonetheless, one girl’s folly is his own chance to shine–

“OH. For that Tully’s hand. A fair girl alright, but she never once looked at him. Thought him a little boy…a poor little boy with no lands or holdings. She’d better off fuck a crofter’s sheep.” 

The cock-y mouse seems to bite his tongue on something. He looks to his bastard daughter and frowns… then thoughtfully twists at his pointy beard.

“Tully?” The maid asks.

“Catelyn Stark. Before he wed her  _sister_.” Yohn’s voice is sharp. He gives Little Prick every bit of his suspicions. Lyn suspects he’ll be raised in pay soon. He wonders who else is being paid off at council. Maybe the goading little cunt with the mouth is also being paid to embarrass him. He could chuckle at that, instead he imagines her tits, and her lady’s tits. 

And before they can say anymore, Alayne politely inquires about their annual sales of herring.

 

 

MARGAERY

 

 

Her Lady returns from the riverlands with a gift for her, a beautiful courser. Margaery’s brother always thought she liked delicate things and pretty, little horses that could preform tricks as his did. But he was wrong. She liked them fast, and wild. And this one was big and strong, and quick as a kiss.

Margaery brushed out her grey white-speckled coat and called her  _Luna,_ for the Mountains of the Moon, and it suited her just fine. Margaery had once owned three horses and thought nothing of it. There was  _Galewind_ ,  _Marigold_ , and her  _Lady Eleanore_ , named for one of her favorite songs. But none of them had been such a prize as her Luna. Luna gave her someone to talk to, and someone to spend quiet hours with while her lady was away on ‘business’ with Lord Baelish. She had always loved animals like the ones her brother Willas raised up himself, but never spent so much time doting on  _just one_  before. Luna was nimble and loud, and when Margaery came to visit the stables, Luna would whinny and bray until the fair lady came to pet her. 

When Sansa returned from her travels, they raced their horses together along the fields and into the deep heart of the forest. Then sometimes they’d find a place to picnic and gather blue and white wildflowers, both giggling as they tied together flower adornments around their horses’ tails and manes. They never brought their mounts up to the mountains on these rides, but the low, green valley was crested by gorgeous gray, blue, and sunny peak’s gold. The air around them felt foggy, dreamy, and enveloped them in a wet, cool mist. It was a break from the heat of Highgarden but surely from the frozen winds of Winterfell, as well. She liked being out here with Sansa and Luna as much as she pleased to go into the city and speak on her lady’s behalf to the merchants, and farmers, and seamen. She oft spoke of how well they kept her, and how honored she was to be her lady’s maid. But best of all, was the times when she and her lady were alone and there was no ruse to put on… where they could just speak of secrets and Margaery liked when she could get a song from her lady. In the fresh air it felt as if everything here was hers and nothing Petyr’s. 

“Tell me of Harry,” the lady Tyrell says, laying her head onto the side of her arm. They lay in the grass across from each other on a set of blankets they had placed on Luna and Sansa’s mount,  _Radish_. Margaery staring into the baseborn daughter’s face, and Sansa twindling together divine ropes of wildflower while on her back. 

“He is most handsome. Perhaps,  _too handsome_. He’s fathered two natural children already.” her lady’s nose crinkles. 

Margaery lets out a laugh, light as wind. 

“What type of handsome?” 

“Pretty… like your brother. Blonde hair, like a Lannister. An Arryn’s nose, quite crooked-” Sansa peers over, absently, then places a flower in her maid’s hair. “You would like him.” 

“As much as I like you?” 

Sansa smiles and looks down at her feet.  _Sometimes she’s still just that shy girl from court. The one who called her ‘sister’ and happily followed her around_. Margaery thinks of what she’s heard Petyr Baelish say to the girl, ‘You are the most lovely girl in the room, and will break the heart of every man who places his eyes upon your fair face.’ Margaery imagines her lady with Harry Hardyng, and the zealous looks all around them as they dance and exchange cloaks. She thinks of a more modest wedding than her own, and the attractive blue-eyed heirs her lady will have. It makes her feel sick like the sickness she felt treading water to the eyrie. 

_Beautiful Harry Hardyng will surely be perfect for Alayne Stone. And she will love him like Garlan loves Leonette, like Loras loved Renly._

They return from the forest, where Littlefinger is waiting for them. Sansa kisses his cheek and hugs him dutifully, but Lord Baelish whispers something in her ear and Sansa gives him a quick, nervous kiss on the lips as Baelish holds her face pressed to his. Satisfied with his second kiss, he steps aside for Sansa to pass and make it up to her solar. But before he joins her, he throws Margaery a smug look behind him.

 

 

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #lyncorbray is still gaay i promise but HE LIES TO HIMSEL F #Mary spelled Marry is a dumb name but everything's spelled and said differently in asoiaf so just forgive me k? #I actually will take ideas for Margaery's fake cover name ESPECIALLY IF THEY'RE FUNNY


	2. Beholden to love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally get why George divides his chapters up by character POVS, it's terribly convenient. And then you get to have your own little secrets!

Marry the Maid

 

Marry tended the garden as Mya Stone tended the mules outside the gate. She and Alayne watching with amusement as Ser Lothor trailed behind Mya like a pup follows dinner scraps.

“Do you think they’d be happy together?” Alayne asked. 

Her Lord Father responded first. “Young girls are always happiest with older men. Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage.”

Marry brushed the dirt off her palms, “I should think love and trust make for a perfect marriage, my lord.” 

Petyr frowned. “Happy maybe… but  _short_.” Maybe he jests of Renly, or Joffrey, or Tommen–she doesn’t know. Maybe even his to Lysa Tully, “One needs experience to succeed in this world, my sweetlings.” 

“And what does one need innocence for?” she questioned.

But she must have caught the lord off guard because he didn’t have an answer for that. Once he left, she heard the girl beside her’s peals of unbidden laughter. Margaery turned and gave her a questioning look.

“You outspoke, my lord Father,” Alayne said through huffs of joyous laughter.  _Innocence and experience, my arse_. Margaery thought. Petyr is so frank with his ambitions she wonders how she and her own court had ever once found him…subtle.

“Your Lord Father mistakes age with experience, and experience with wisdom,” she said, equally chuff. “I had more experience than all the ladies of court, and the wisdom and experience of my lady grandmother as well–” she looked sad for just a moment as she thought of her Olenna. A woman who spoke well and often of the limited merits of Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish. “But still was lost in the jaws of a lion and her wicked little  _Septon_!” What a foolish, vile queen. She was doomed in King’s Landing and Highgarden as long as that monster breathed. It made her most upset, fuming even, to think of the trouble she put onto her little cousins. 

Sansa took her gloved hands in her own. “You are safe so long as you stay here, with me, sister. I promise.” She had not called her ‘ _sister’_ since before her wedding to Tyrion and it made the little flower’s heart flutter.

Truthfully, she was unsure of how long she thought to hide here. Her original plan had been to wait until her brother’s wounds healed then to take a ship very, very far away. She felt a chill whenever she tried to picture her brother’s pretty face. It hovered there for a  minutes then flashed with images of scarring and fire. Was her handsome brother  _The Hound_ now? How would it look? 

But truly it didn’t matter… Loras would always be the most noble, gallant knight she’d ever met. And a burn to his face would not burn his lovely, wonderful heart. Cersei could not take that from him. No one loved her brother as Margaery had loved her own. She married for him, to his own beloved. She nursed him in her arms once his beloved was taken into the shadows, and the light from her beautiful brother’s eyes were gone. She trusted him most dearly, and adored him more than any woman in all of the seven kingdoms ever could.

“ _Thank you_.” she told sansa quietly.

 

+++

 

 

Alayne

 

 

After a full day of dealing with Myranda Royce’s meddling, Alayne is exhausted. She plops down in her solar, until she remembers her Father’s request to see her. There has been no time to rest since Robert Arryn’s abrupt passing, because now the Eyrie has transferred too soon to Harry the Heir (before even a promise of a match,) and what use would a Protector of the Vale be, now? And a marriage to a baseborn daughter who has nothing to offer in return? Their weeks had been filled with traveling and negotiating, and feeble attempts to woo Lady Waynwood to their side. And meanwhile, Petyr was burning money to try and keep any Lords of the Vale on their losing side… 

Tonight, Petyr is scribbling at his desk by candelight. The etchings move his hand which moves the light to flicker back and forth across his face. He hears her enter and his eyes rise to survey her.

“Lemon cakes?” He asks, pushing the tray further towards her. Alayne smiles and quickly plops one in her mouth. Perhaps, her day was improving just a little. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

She wondered if their meeting had to do with Ser Harrold, who was fast asleep in Robert’s old room. She knew it was prized though it smelled to her like the stale scent of thrown chamberpots, and even with a luscious view of the Giants Lance’s brilliant, blue sky–she could not imagine wanting to sleep there. She had tried to escort him there herself but he’d brushed her off curtly.  _What does the heir of the Eyerie need of a bastard daughter?_  He’d asked, his blue eyes going especially daunting. Alayne had to swallow her own words, foolishly, as the door was closed in her face like she was a mere servant.

“Have you ever heard the tale of the fox and the hound?” 

She shook her head.

“There was a fox that could never be caught, and a hound who never failed to catch his prey. The two chased each other for an eternity until they were both cast to stone. Do you see the problem here?”

“Of course.” 

“‘Of course,’ she says, but no you don’t,” His eyes traced up and down her body, “The lesson here is don’t chase something you’ll never catch. It’s a waste of time, and will keep you from achieving  _what you must_.” 

“I…see…Father,” she didn’t quite see but wasn’t sure what else to say. She was tired and these were more questions than she cared for. He took his hand in hers and traced his fingers around the lines of her hand then left a small, light kiss on the center of her wrist as he’d done before when he was drinking though tonight he’d had not even a drop.

“We are the hounds, my dear. And you will catch anything– _anyone_ , as I’ve said before. But, not if you dote on a mere fox.” 

“Sure, Father. I mean-” 

He placed one kiss again but this time upon her lips to quiet them. “Harry’s our prize. And Myranda nears closer and closer to him everyday. Do you want to lose everything?” 

Though his kiss was gentle his words were not, they washed over Sansa like a cold bath or a walk through the other side of the wall… She had thought herself perfectly charming, she had tried her best to win over Harrold, but his cold words and tone made her feel utterly useless…she’d have to converse with Margaery, she’d have to play the game better…

She tried to wipe away her tears that night before she woke the dear friend who slept next to her, but Margary stirred and saw them anyway. She looked as wounded as Sansa  _felt_ thenbrushed her fingers, comfortingly, above Sansa’s cheeks. Her skin was wet but somehow felt burning. Warm from crying and hot with embarrassment.

Margaery said nothing at first until her friend’s breathing slowed down. Then inquired softly, “What did he do?”

“I’ve lost Harry.” She feels those fingers slip from under her eyes to loop away strands of hair around her ears, “I have failed.”

“How so?” Margaery’s eyes shined in the moon’s light that drew from the window. Her head rested easily on the pillow beside Sansa’s, and her feet touched hers beneath the blankets, warmer than her own.

“He says Myranda Royce shall have him.”

Her lady let out a throaty little chuckle. “Her? Oh, I will keep away Royce should it suit your purpose.” 

 _How dare you laugh!_ Sansa wanted to shout, but she knew that was the irrational whingings of a child.  _No_. She needs to ask,  _how?_  Because Randa has been unfalteringly as of late, with a grace as easy as Alayne’s, and a raunchy humor that had squires and knights fawning after her since their deceased Robert Arryn’s tourney. Randa was everything Alayne was not.  _Self-assured, and brave-_

“I will have it all quite in hand,” Margaery told her confidently. “I have been invited to share her bed more than once… I should see to it that she stays…properly distracted.” 

_Distracted?_

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” Margaery tapped her neck lightly with a finger. Her touch lingered for a second before both her fingers and her smile vanished and she closed her eyes.

Margaery fell asleep long before she did, and then the next night, she didn’t appear in her chambers at all.

 

+++

 

 

 _This is a part of it._ Alayne reasoned. She had spent the past few nights without her Tyrell companion. But whatever it meant to keep Royce away, it was also taking up her maid's hours of the day so that she hardly saw her at all! She was beginning to feel direly lonely without the brown-eyed girl around, so Alayne sought out her father, but he was busy these days as well. 

 _I guess I must go see Ser Harry_ … she decided. So she went down the halls she’d passed many times, and to the chambers where Sweetrobin often left to sleep in Alayne’s bed with her, brushing her quick with kisses and begging for stories before ultimately wetting the bed and her…  _Still, I never truly wished him dead_. She thinks.

She sees Harry leaning by the wall outside one of the many grand windows of the tower, the shadows of his broad shoulders sloped around him, his back drawn tight. She cannot see his face but she imagines it as handsomely impassive as ever. He leans but then turns to see her and rough-voiced beckons her by, “Come here, Lady.”

“Come to the window,” he moves to take her hand and arm-in-arm he shows her to the sill…

Which shows directly into one of the private gardens that leads between rooms. Two small figures in the night kissing on a bench…

Two very, very familiar figures. Her heart drops, like an accused through the moon tower.

“Lady Royce gave me her favor the other day,” he says dryly. And Sansa notices the shiny fabric twirling between his strong hands. “I think she should have it back.” 

He tosses it over the edge. The scarf fluttered through the air and landed far away from Margaery and Myranda.

 _I’m s-so sorry, my Lord_ , she should have brought herself to say. Or,  _I can give you my favor should it please you-_

But no. Sansa couldn’t rip her eyes away from her Tyrell’s hands as they clawed through the back of Royce’s cloak and into her hair, forcing her closer. The way they kissed…not like any dutiful knight and his beloved would, but like grappling bears in the wild. She felt herself go red and shaky. And as her body moved towards the window–airless–

Harry’s hands pulled her back and close to him. She felt his sturdy chest move up and down with near-silent laughter. His eyes, for one of the few times since she’d met him, mirthful.

“What favor has she bestowed  _upon you_ , my Lady? Perhaps I should have held onto mine and we could have created a bonfire.” His face showed a smile full of  dimples, then he whispered, naughtily, into her ear, his breath hot–“We could show them here and now, you are comely enough and I am surely comely enough as well? Do they brew moon tea at the moon gates? I promised Saffron there’d be no other little Harrys running about when I returned.” 

His japes were crude but Alayne barely heard them.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mya was much younger than Ser Lothor, but when her father had been brokering the marriage between Lord Corbray and his merchant’s daughter, he’d told her that young girls were always happiest with older men. “Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage,” he had said.” -- A Feast For Crows.
> 
>  
> 
> I had to write in Margaery into a story about The Vale just so someone could call out Petyr's dumb book BS.


	3. Enemies in all corners

ALAYNE

 

To no credit of her own, Harry rarely left Alayne’s side these days. Littlefinger looked impressed, his brows raised happily every time they all supped together in the main hall. He had even gone to the extra lengths of refilling their wine glasses every time they ran dry (though only Alayne knew he used a special blend just for them, Strongwine diluted with half a flagon of normal hippocras,) and even toasted the ‘happy-looking couple’ at the table which embarrassed Sansa greatly and Harry not at all. The Young Falcon reached below the table and with his thumb, pried her hands open until they could be laced through his. 

He dropped a devoted smile around the guests, playing some silly role of a lovesick moron… but Alayne could hardly think of any of it. The only reason she had Harry now was because he thought it funny. He teased her, and kissed her cheeks, and bowed while also constantly asking for her favors. 

 _‘Would this sweet lady of mine bestow a favor upon her gallant knight?’_  inspired a round of ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’ from the women of the court.

He even went everywhere with her arm-in-arm, making bawdy jokes about all the hedge knights, Lords, and Ladies of court. She had to admit his wit and japing could almost mirror that of her lord father’s, but that didn’t matter much. Especially when she was often the victim of his japes, such as her introduction to his new tourney horse.  _‘A beaut isn’t she? I shall call her Lady Alayne, for that is the filly I wish to ride in my evenings–’_ It was simply humiliating. The disrespect she’d found from Ser Harrold on day one had only gotten worse, and his boyish look of triumphance every time she yelled at him reminded her of her childhood days with Theon Greyjoy. She’s sure that Theon and Ser Harry would make best of friends.

Things had really switched around. _Littlefinger even looked favorably upon Lady Marry now._ His hands meeting hers then giving her two swift pecks upon both cheeks each time they saw one another. Margaery rolled her eyes to Sansa when he turned away, but for the most part played her role.

“That one is quite persuasive,” Petyr told her in secret, “She will have to get at least  _something_  she wants.” Sansa sat in the opposite corner, stitching one of Harry’s leather boots back together. He had thrown them at her after one of his matches and said,  _Fix it!_  It was a game he played, a melee of sorts. His honor (and maybe even his esteem, Sansa thought) was in shambles after Royce’s rejection but she didn’t know that. Myranda didn’t know he knew anything at all about her little extracurriculars, and now here he was punishing Alayne by ruining  _her own honor_ to restore his. It was all a big mummer to suit his pride, but it wasn’t like Randa Royce had even noticed–no–she was way too enamored with her new bedfellow to care. 

If Harry and Alayne went arm-in-arm one way, their match would be Myranda and Margaery going arm-in-arm in the opposite direction.

Royce and Lady Margaery were always riding or hawking or running from Royce’s guards to sneak their wicked kisses. They rolled their eyes at Shett and Lipps, and even at Lord Baelish sometimes. Alayne had seen Margaery’s lips pursed together, her voice deepening to mimic that of Littlefinger’s,  _‘ALAYNE. COME, GIVE YOUR FATHER A KISS!’_

(Like she used to do for Sansa!) 

 _That was our joke_ , Sansa thought…feeling quite nettled by the whole thing. It used to be that Margaery would wait until they were alone in her solar, then she’d repeat all the little things Littlefinger had said, like a mockingbird from his lapel.  _‘You are the most beautiful-est, most perfect-est daughter a man could ever hope to ravage!’_  Margaery would kick her feet above her on the bed, stomach sprawled out and hands madly reaching to touch Sansa’s hair or her face.  _‘You will destroy the world like one of those Valyrian dragons!’_  and Sansa giggled but also secretly hoped Petyr would never hear of her maid’s japes. Because she was not sure what he’d truly do. Petyr would touch her and she’d only think of that mocking, pleading voice reciting it in her chamber…  _‘Come, give your father a kiss!’_

And unlike, when Sansa and Margaery joked, Myranda would say it and Margaery would fall into her arms! And they’d peck like birds. It sent Mya Stone tumbling over in laughter, her wet eyes staring apologetically at Alayne’s ‘Sorry-me-sorry-I–no–I can’t stop, I can’t stop–’ Then wheezing and bent over like she was in one of Robert’s shaking fits!

“Maid Marry does the task I asked of her,” Sansa responded, hotly. She quickened her fingers to stitch furiously.  _Seven hells!_   _Why did_ _she_ _care?_ Lady Margaery could do as she pleases or who she pleases.

 _But the plan wasn’t even working_ , she moped.  _Harry isn’t even more mine than he was before!_

She’d traded a queen for a bishop. And now she was completely alone. Alayne finished the stubborn boot and threw it to the floor. Petyr watched the shoe dance. “If you get drunk tonight and fall asleep under a table, then you really do take after me.” He looked a mix of pride and anger. Petyr raised up from his chair and picked up the boot off the floor, he rested upon one knee in front of his daughter’s lap.

Then he handed the boot back to her, eyes searching.

“Anything you want, my sweetling.  _Just ask for it._ ” 

_What game was this now?_

“What if I asked for nothing?” 

His lips blossomed into a full, but dark smile. “I’d still give you everything.”

 

 

+++

 

 

MARRY THE MAID

  

 

‘A bear there was, a bear, a bear! all black and brown, and covered with hair. The bear! The bear!’

Margaery was sipping on ale but had scarcely touched her meal. She watched the couple of the hour, the one everyone loved and adored. And who couldn’t? They were both easy on the eyes, well-spoken, and immaculately dressed in matching hues of blue and silver that brought out their eyes. Alayne, who seemed to tower over her uncle, her attendants, and every other man around her, for the past year had been matched by her husband-to-be. And the Young Falcon had tamed his mop of blonde hair for tonight’s special affair. It was brushed back, but wisps on the side of his forehead still drew over his eyes in a way that somehow made him look even  _more_ comely.  _A perfect pair._ Lord Baelish sat in a seat of honor beside them, and was practically the banquet’s third cupbearer. He never allowed a glass to empty, or a guest to escape their night’s stupor. He kept them all stumbling over their coattails every time they left the table.

 _That’s where I should be._ She thought. Seated near my beautiful auburn-haired friend, and not on Myranda Royce’s arm like some doll.

_Why did I have to offer?_

_Why did Sansa accept?_

(She knew why. Of course she knew.)

Myranda’s hands toyed with her skirts underneath the table, one hand slowly trailing over pale thighs.  _Sure, she’d had fun at first_. It had been a long time since she’d gotten to play the game of romance and seduction. Her last lover had been before she left Highgarden for the watchful and dangerous eyes of King’s Landing, though she wouldn’t say Myranda had been a particularly challenging hunt… the woman had wanted her from the day they met, and was quite blunt about it. One kiss easily turned to more and more… Margaery stared at the hands being held under the table across from theirs.  _I made you that. And now you just dispose of me as though I’m nothing?_  The fingers of the traveling hand scratched playfully where no one would see. Margaery winced in pain at her lover’s claws. 

_But how dare she?_

She felt a loathing the flower of Highgarden had never felt before. But what did she expect? 

Nothing in life was free, except lions and thorns. She had once had the strength to take a stag, a lion, and a lion’s cub, but even she could not take a wolf.

Flowers could only do so much.

 

_But how dare she take leave of me?_

+++

 

ALAYNE

 

 

Sansa’s mind was still foggy from drink when she heard a loud pounding outside her chamber’s door.She stumbled over and lifted the bar to allow admittance, but,  _If this is Petyr, I swear–_

It wasn’t. 

It was Lady Margaery Tyrell, and she was fuming.

“Perhaps my lady wishes to tell me how best to serve her? Mayhaps, I did the job wrong…. to be traded away–I must have been absolutely  _horrid_. Blame my status, I’ve never had to lace my own corsets before… or shine my own shoes.” Margaery’s curls were disheveled around her angry, pale shoulders. She wore the cruelest smile across her face, devoid and hard. It echoed her grandmother’s, a face that reminded her of the one Olenna made to Sansa as soon as she became disposable from her plan… a face that made Sansa feel as if she weren’t even there at all. 

“I don’t understand,” Sansa now felt angry too, “Wasn’t this  _your_  idea?” 

Margaery barked a dry laugh. 

“I thought I belonged to  _myself_. But tonight Myranda Royce tells me you’ve given her permission to take me whenever she visits! Is this how you treat all your good friends, _Alayne_?” She sounded like she was stabbing the name as she said it, and her eyes were still furious. 

Sansa feels like maybe she is truly still in her cups because she has never seen Margaery lose control like this before.

“She asked me…” Sansa fumbles with the buttons of her smallclothes, trying to haphazardly put her clothes on in the dark where the only light in the room comes from an abruptly opened door. (To be fair, she was four cups into strongwine and her maid had been dismissed to seduce a wayward harlot. So it was rather easy to fall asleep on her bed half-dressed.) 

“And you just give the Lady Royce whatever she wants?” Margaery’s eyes watched her hands as they moved.

Sansa sighed. “No.” 

The flower’s brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Maybe you wanted to punish me. Damn that Tyrell girl. She left me to the imp! I can only imagine how long the plotting took you and Littlefinger–”

“How in the name of all seven gods did you arrive to that conclusion?”

“Then  _why_?” The girl’s eyes bore a hole into hers.

“I thought…” 

“That it was what  _I_ want.” Margaery finishes. “I did that for you, but now you have Harry and have no need for me, I see–”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says firmly this time. She leaves her buttoning, and moves across the room to hold her friend’s hands. 

“I missed you.” Sansa’s voice was raspy from drink and being half-awake, but her words sincere.  _I missed you so much I wanted to shove Myranda out the moon door myself. I missed you so much I wanted to put you in my room and lock the door so you could never go._

For a few minutes, they both remained silent. Margaery thinks it’s almost impossible not to look into those big blue eyes and see the hope and love in them. She could melt in those eyes, and in that fair face.  _But, I remember meeting you. I remember your open, caring heart and the way you trusted me with your life and it made me adore you even more._

But even so, there was a part of her still in command not ready to forgive.

“If you mean as you say… you will command Lady Royce to find another bedfellow.” 

Sansa laughs and brings her friend in for a deep hug…seemingly forgetting she’s only half-covered and so the brunette feels just about  _everything_. She loses her breath momentarily, pressed into this intimate hug.

“Consider it done.” 

 _I have been made a fool_ , Margaery thinks.  _Like the boys and girls I thought I loved, but who always loved me more._ Maybe it was divine justice.

“Tell her at once,” Margaery demands.

“Of course…” Sansa releases her from her arms and studies her face. Margaery wishes this were a song…  _I’d grab you and kiss you more fervently than any knight or prince, my love_.  _You’d forget Ser Harrold Arryn ever existed._

“And what will you tell her?” 

Sansa could have laughed, but she refrained from angering her companion any further. Especially when they seemed to be at the end of negotiating their peace treaty. She sat on her bed and crossed one leg over the other, watching the brunette’s chest move up and down as her labored breathing slowed. 

“That I need my lady to attend me.” Sansa patted the side of the bed next to where she sat.  _“But if you want to sleep with me,”_  Sansa mimicked Randa’s prying, haughty tone,  _“You have to pay the pillow tax and tell me all about the wicked things you’ve done.”_

“Why don’t I tell you all the wicked things Lady Royce has done?”

“That’ll earn you one night’s rest.” 

“I pity your imagination, Sansa. Randa has enough to fill at least five.” 

“And you?” Sansa narrowed her eyes down at Margaery, pretending to be disapproving. “How many nights can the lovely Margaery Tyrell fill?”

“Half a moon’s turn for the things I’ve done… and four more for the things I want to do.” 

“Ah,” Sansa yawns, the brunette watches her eyelashes flutter. “I s’pose you shouldn’t have paid the tax. Now I must write to the High Septon and the virtuous and sacred-bound, Cersei Lannister…”

“You jape.” 

Margaery lay down next to her lady. She remembered her grandmother’s warning, _your heart must be as fortified as the strongest castle in Westeros. If you lose your head, everything else will fall along with it._

But she was not nearly as gifted in the game as her dear grandmother was. Her walls were forged in glass, and her heart steeled by vine.

_A scrape from Willas, a cut for Loras, a tear from Sansa…_

When she heard the younger girl’s breathing even out, she closed her eyes to try and rest. 

 

 

+++

 

PROTECTOR OF THE VALE

 

Petyr was not one for calling his spies ‘birds’ or ‘spiders’ like Varys did. He would say that Varys had a touch for the dramatic. But he also didn’t like to call them paid hands, or anything so blatant as a ‘sellsword.’ At least not openly in public like Queen Cersei, the slowly-unraveling regent of the South. She was slowly degrading at a pace his plans couldn’t dream to keep up with.  _I still must remove Tyrion from the picture if this marriage between the Falcon and the Wolf is to be legitimized. But, the mad lioness was supposed to have done that for me, already_. His best Kettleblack was seemingly out of the picture as well. Though, how ironic that Osney had turned over his lover and not Petyr himself? 

He sent for his girl who he paid to follow Alayne immediately. He kept swords with his daughter for protection but servants for intel. The girl was a child just shy of three-and-ten, who gave the coins to her sickly grandfather and had proven herself to be quite handy and secretive of her duties enough.

“Today I saw ‘em staring at pied-billed grebes by the water. Lady Alayne fed them birds her bread crumbs, then she nearly died of fright when the squawkers fought for ‘em.” 

“What else?” 

“Maid Marry saw a pair of swans and told Lady Alayne about how they mate for life. Then they talked about some other birds, m’ lord.” The girl looked about ready to sleep for boredom. 

“Thank you. That is enough,” Petyr put a coin down in front  of her. 

“One coin!!!” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Bring me something interesting and it’ll be three.” 

“What about Lady Royce? Is she worth another?” The girl inquired. Petyr nodded, and waved a hand at her to go on. 

“She appeared while they were feeding the birds. I couldn’t hear her, ‘cuz of the whispering, but she pushed her into the lake.” 

“Who?”

“Alayne.”

Petyr stroked his beard absently.  _Perhaps it’s time for Royce to go home. He can even offer to arrange a match to her family, some consultatory measure to keep the alliance_. 

He let out a deep sigh. “What else did they talk about?”

“Who, m’lord?”

“Lady Alayne and her servant.” 

The girl giggled. “Trifle matters.”

“ _No.”_  He put another coin on the table, his last offer, “Tell me everything.”

 

+++

 

THE LADY WOLF

 

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to mute the rest of her day away. She had spent half of it drenched in water in the freezing cold. Then the second half was Margaery wrapping her up in what was possibly every blanket that existed inside her Eyrie home. She was exhausted, and quite frankly, cold still. 

Royce had taken the news rather... well, childishly. First she had aimed for Margaery ( _What is that loon thinking?_ ) but Sansa had taken the shove for her...Gods knows why!

Alayne Stone walked through the old-stone corridors of the tower. She felt like she was being punished for something she hadn’t even done!  _Margaery-I mean, Marry, asked me to do that for her. She said I HAD to. I mean I wanted to, but I also had to. Why is Myranda such a grudge-keeper?_

Alayne saw Harry while passing the armory inside the tower. He whipped his helmet off and then shook out his long hair, a bright grin on his face once he saw her.  _Of course, the emptiest place in the Eyrie, but it still has Ser Harrold there for me to encounter..._

“What’s wrong, my love?” Harry reached for her arm. Sansa slapped the Blonde boy’s hand away, but he only pretended to be offended. Letting out a fake gasp of indignation. 

“You know, the more you stop trying to wrap me around your little finger, the more I like you.” He gave another huff of fake hurt. “It’s quite beguiling the way you scream! Nothing more attractive than a woman scorned--” 

“Harry!” 

“Not Ser Harrold, or Ser Harry. Just Harry now? You wound me.”

“I am sorry, my ser--”

“No, half-wit. That was a joke.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not an old fart up the arse like Robert Arryn and Lady Lysa, nor am I a proper manipulative prick as your bastard-having Uncle, but something doesn’t add up ‘Alayne,’” His face pinched, true annoyance now instead of mockery, “And you mocked my natural daughters, but are supposedly one of those Stones yourself? Do you think I don’t know a highborn lady when I see one, just as I’d know a cheap, power-grabbing ploy by her lady’s Father?” 

He grew angrier, and Sansa stepped back in instinct. Her whole body felt frozen in place.  _No, no, move! Move!_

Harry stopped moving, however. 

“I would never hurt you,” He said.

But Alayne said nothing.

“And I would never force you against your will." His words echoed on the walls, making the vow for him many times, "I would never touch any lady who didn’t want me too...” 

“I’ve been promised that before,” she thinks sorely of her husband, Tyrion.  _And if I never want you to, my lord?_ And, any threat of producing heirs. “How do I truly know your words are honest? My Lord Father says all men only want one thing from a lady. And a man only marries a woman who can please him.”

“Your father’s a twat, darling.” That wry smile never seemed to leave his lips. There was something painfully likeable about her future-husband. As if Joffrey and Loras’ looks combined, as if Robert and Renly’s humor lived in the same body, but her stern Father’s nose--her mother’s blue eyes, the hardened body of a swordsman-- He was an utterly perfect suitor. A boy straight from the songs of love and valiancy. 

But she felt the more she looked at her perfect knight, the less she wanted him. She had completely  _outgrown_  him _._

She didn’t want her Mother’s eyes, but her fire and her passion. She didn’t just want her Father’s  _look_ , she wanted his strength and his valor. His goodness. She wanted the bravery of Loras, the forethought of Petyr, the cunning of Tyrion, the perseverance of The Hound... she wanted all those things and more. She wanted to feel safe again like she did in her parents’ arms, she wanted her sister’s protective streak, Jon’s loyalty, Robb’s ambition, Rickon’s wildheart and Bran’s unbroken spirit... she wanted it all so much and so strongly that she could not help but whisper one word:

“ _Stark.”_

The word played her heart like a wellworn harp. She stared into the boy’s face, hard and tan, and supposedly just like his great-uncle, Jon’s--

“I am no baseborn child. I am Sansa Stark, the last remaining heir, and you  _will_  help me reclaim Winterfell.”

Harry the Heir’s mouth gaped open, then he contemplated the grave words, touching his fingers to his chin till he looked like a poised statue.

“Then it is decided. I am your champion, ma’lady.” He descended to one knee on the stony floor and bowed his head low. “And your Arryn husband.”

His face looked hardened in the candlelight, his crooked nose gleaming out alongside the profile of his chiseled face. The tone made his deep blue eyes glow dark like a dragon’s claw. But his voice was sweet like the songs he might have just jumped out of. It felt warm and familiar. 

“You believe me?” She asked. Her tone could not hide the surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mad margaery feels haha: #i hope you feel just as attacked as lady alayne rn #i really wanted margaery to kick sansa out of her own room #cuz it's pretty badass whenever she's like 'LEAVE ME. I SAID LEAVE.' in the books hahahaha #she's so polite and cordial even when she's calling someone a scheming vile bitch #lmfao
> 
> Her keeping her shit together until she blew up at Cersei in the books is just so gooodddd. Even Margaery can only be pushed so far...


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